


Pump It Up

by matchstick_dolly



Series: Matches After Midnight [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe Decker's biggest fan, Desire, Episode Related, Gen, Humor, Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Lucifer, Post-Episode: s03e11 City of Angels, Pre-Canon, Pre-Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Pre-Season/Series 01, Sexual Content, christening the penthouse, fuckruary2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22508038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/pseuds/matchstick_dolly
Summary: After years of seeing only bits and pieces of a dreadfully censoredHot Tub High Schoolin Hell, Lucifer settles into his new penthouse apartment to enjoy the raunchy coming-of-age comedy.
Series: Matches After Midnight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620778
Comments: 27
Kudos: 147





	Pump It Up

**Author's Note:**

> For [Fuckruary 2020](https://freakyfebruary.tumblr.com/post/189113012894/freaky-february-rules). _Nails_ several prompts, but this is my prompt fill for day one, "Desire." The title is from ["Pump It Up" by Elvis Costello & The Attractions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Y71iDvCYXA).
> 
> Thanks to [Clammy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clammy/pseuds/puerile) and [ObliObla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla) for pre-reads/beta'ing.

Humans could be such ingenious creatures. You could get bloody _anything_ delivered now, often on the same day. Even seasonal fruit—year round, no need to fly anywhere yourself. Absolutely brilliant. Oh, the humans were on the fast track for destroying all life as they knew it, but what could you do? Intelligent apes with a lifespan of eighty-odd years tended not to plan well for their future. The roaches shall inherit the Earth and all that. It wasn't Lucifer's problem what they got up to, unless it was him, which he planned to let them get up to quite a lot. 

Stripping off his trousers and bunging them aside, he settled back, buck naked, on his new Italian leather sofa (delivered today). Spreading his legs in a wide V, he wriggled, getting comfortable, and nudged his fruit and artisanal cheese plate (delivered an hour ago) farther to the right. His cock bobbed with the movement, already at half-mast in pure anticipation for the self-indulgent evening. 

The last few days had been quite the fuckathon. He had boned his way through an entire coed volleyball team and a couple of interior decorators who happened to be married to each other, so he was ready for a little of what humans in L.A. now referred to as "me time." In his new penthouse apartment, no less. Nothing wrong with simple pleasures, and you couldn't get much simpler than bashing the bishop on a quiet night in. 

Lucifer wedged a joint between his lips and flicked his lighter open. After several moments of tinkering with his newfangled television remote, he managed to turn on the DVD player and start the movie (delivered with the fruit and cheese) he had queued up. He grinned around his spliff as a sprawling school campus eased onto the screen, followed by the title screen: HOT TUB HIGH SCHOOL. 

This bloody movie, he thought, puffing out smoke with a scoff. It may have gotten to him in L.A. in under twenty-four hours, but it was one of those that had plagued him for years, as he caught mere glimpses of it in Hell loops. Lucifer had seen all of _Titanic_ in the loops, two thirds of _Avatar_ , and a full showing without any interruptions of _Marley & Me_. (It had turned out that the damned soul in that loop felt guiltiest about taking his blind date to the movie after learning she had euthanized her elderly Pekingese a few days prior.) The latter film Lucifer would never suffer again. Just...just didn't care for Owen Wilson, really.

If _Hot Tub High School_ were actively watched at all by a tortured soul in Hell, it was _never_ watched in full. It was one of those movies that played on a telly in the background while a guilty soul went through the motions of, say, chopping up a loved one for the centillionth time. Worst of all, most instances of the film Lucifer had found were from the television broadcast, which was censored and therefore an utter travesty. But that was Hell for you: the best ten minutes cut from a movie that was only an hour and twenty long.

As the main characters were introduced in the hallways of Rose Hill High School, Lucifer's left hand drifted down to massage his inner thighs. He carefully avoided the growing panhandle between them, choosing, as he typically did, to prolong pleasure. There was Emma, the hot brunette from next door type; Cassidy, the wet dream of redhead fetishists everywhere; and the movie's star, Jennifer, the blond, blue-eyed eighteen-year-old who looked like she should leave all these prats behind for centerfolds and runways. If any of these girls had aspirations outside of boys, they weren't known. Didn't matter. This was low-brow, early-aughts entertainment at its finest.

Naturally, Jennifer had the hots for Rose Hill's star quarterback. The problem was quarterback Nick Thompson was taken—and so began a bet amongst naughty girls, with Jennifer certain she could break up the school's iconic power couple in time for prom. Of course, there was no good reason _why_ Jennifer Winters, who was a league above all her fellow trollops, should want boring Nick—personally, he'd have shipped her with Emma—but this was not the kind of movie you spent a lot of time thinking about. Well, you tried not to.

The leading men were introduced next, Nick himself and his friend Kevin, the school's notorious class clown. Tragically, neither were fantasy-worthy types and Lucifer nearly lost his erection staring at Nick's heinous underbite until he distracted himself with a tangelo and smoked provolone.

About fifteen minutes in, the scene he'd been waiting for began to unfold. So help him, he'd never seen it in full and uncensored, and knowing what was coming—well, other than himself—sent blood flooding southward. Jennifer jogged up the steps to Nick's family mansion, blond pigtails bobbing, pert bum peeking out from frayed denim short shorts. Nick's parents weren't home, and his cute prom-queen-wannabe girlfriend Hannah wasn't around to cramp Jennifer's style.

Lucifer tossed aside a cluster of grapes in favor of clutching his own plums and banana. He slid his right hand up and down his hard length as Jennifer, clever minx that she was, wiled her way into Nick's hot tub. They showed the whole glorious process: the removal of her tight, white top, the wriggle out of those delightful short shorts, the barely-there red two-piece she wore underneath it all. Breathing raggedly, Lucifer swiped his thumb over the building pearl at the head of his cock and spread it. His left hand tugged down on his balls gently as he stroked up and down his uncut shaft.

Nick and Jennifer sunk into the hot tub, Nick sinking faster to hide the tent he'd pitched. The jets were turned on, and Jennifer moaned absurdly, arching her back and tilting her head to expose a long throat. There was this moment, _right there_ , when Lucifer felt the fourth wall was broken. Jennifer was supposed to know _exactly_ what was she was doing, but so, too, it seemed, did the young actress, as her crystal blue eyes flicked toward the camera. Gasping, Lucifer rewound and replayed the scene. Twice. And then once more for good measure.

There was an edge to the fleeting glance that almost did him in. It was the look of a woman who had filthy dreams she didn't know how to voice. What he wouldn't give to draw out all those dirty little desires. 

Bloody hell, who _was_ this young woman?

But there wasn't enough time to bother looking at the DVD case before, fucking hell, Jennifer's top came off. It was played for laughs, as nearly all else in the film was. Part of the character's cunning plot, a few key knots untied beneath the cover of hot tub bubbles. Affecting oblivious innocence, Jennifer stood, water droplets rolling down soft, round breasts in wondrous slow motion. Lucifer's mouth fell open as a fat drop caught on one pink, pebbled nipple and reflected the light. When she was fully stood, he frantically grabbed the remote with his left hand and jabbed the pause button while jerking it for all he was worth with his right.

She had _long_ legs. Bloody _perfect_ legs. And what wonders lay beneath those bikini bottoms? Tiny lips that would part beneath a finger, prominent ones he could suck on? A bundle of nerves that had to be brushed gently—or perhaps she liked it rough? She had muscled thighs he'd kill to feel squeezing around his head and hips.

Lucifer closed his eyes and let his head fall against the sofa back with a thunk. His imagination made quick work of editing Nick out of the hot tub and editing himself in as the new and naked leading man. He imagined gliding through the hot, bubbling water, his fingers curling around slender ankles. He would slide his hands up smooth calves and round knees, to quivering thighs. Jennifer Winters would never think of bloody Nick Thompson after a night with the Devil. 

He'd look up into that sea glass gaze. "Wouldn't it be more fun to be with someone...more experienced?"

Pouty, kissable lips would part. "Yes."

"Lovely. And may I divest you of this?" he'd ask, eyes flicking to the tiny bikini. At her jerky nod, he'd untie the strip of fabric and let it drop to float in the water. Run a hand over her hip and rest it just above her pubic bone—waxed smooth? trimmed hair? a bush? did the carpets match the drapes?—and he'd stroke his thumb just above where she would have begun to think of him descending. 

But he wouldn't give her the pleasure just yet. Because pleasure was a thing you built slowly from the ground up, until it became a precarious tower which toppled.

He would push her to sit at the edge of the hot tub and would lean up on his knees and kiss her slowly and deeply, the fingers of his left hand circling a nipple as the fingers of his right crawled up her inner thigh. He would kiss and suck her neck, her breasts, her ribs, belly, and thighs until any shyness melted away, until all she could do was cry out with need.

"Now," he'd purr across her swollen mouth, "anything you desire, you can have. You need only confess to the Devil, darling." He'd lean back and pin her with his gaze. "So, what is it you want, hmm?"

Jennifer would fall into his silken web, all that lust bubbling to the surface. "I want..."

He'd squeeze her hip. "That's it..."

"I want you to take me to prom," she would breathe.

Oh, bloody hell. _Really_?

Lucifer's eyes snapped open as he sighed, his libido going pear-shaped. Sometimes desires really _were_ that banal, but it would be nice if his mind could forget it for a few damn minutes. 

With another glance at the frozen still on his TV screen to set him right, he dipped back into his fantasy, his grip tight as he pumped himself. In his head, he fast-forwarded to a more pleasurable point not tripped up by inconvenient demands. A point when his head would be pressed between her thighs as his tongue worked across her nub while two fingers were buried and curled and _on the move_. Her moans would be constant, of course, caught between the gasped breaths and loud vocalizations he drew out of all pent-up women with naughty little looks.

Outside his fantasy, he was uncomfortably hard, his muscles clenching and unclenching. In his fantasy, slender hips rolled, and fingers tore at his hair.

"Lucifer," Jennifer would moan, and then, " _Lucifer_." And finally, when she couldn't take anymore, her body would seize up with the pleasure of having her needs met, and, oh, that was everything to one who met desires. Trembling legs would clamp around his head and soft, wet muscles would cling to his fingers. "Fuck me," she would cry, his tongue lapping up her ecstasy. " _Please_ fuck me."

Lucifer couldn't take any more himself then. His back flared with a tender ache as his cock jerked in his hand. Warm come skittered up his stomach and chest in short, powerful bursts that left him groaning and seeing stars. 

He came down from the dizzying heights slowly, wet skin and blond pigtails filling his head. Letting go of his softening devilhood several moments later, he sagged in relief and stared at the still of Jennifer Winters. Talk about wank bank material.

With a satisfied sigh, he leaned over and snagged the towel he'd set out for himself. Unpausing the film, he cleaned up idly, his mind less addled by desire and curiosity. That was usually the case with humans, after all. Even the interesting ones, you just had to get them out of your system. When he was mostly clean, he reached for his plate of food and the bottle of whisky he'd set on the floor by his feet. 

He laughed easily as he watched the rest of the movie, the jokes no longer impeded by the surrounding tortures of Hell. The lead actress was rather good, truth be told or, at least, she worked hard with what she had been given. Poor girl had to kiss an absolute troll, tongue and all, and she bloody well sold it, too. Lucifer could relate to being stuck in a job with less than desirable particulars. 

The movie ended as most saccharine coming-of-age tales do, with Jennifer realizing the best way to get the boy of her dreams was by being herself. Utter tosh, right down to the cheesy crowns placed on their heads, but quietly, he didn't mind it all that much. He let out a satisfied sigh as the credits rolled to the tune of Jimmy Eat World.

"Chloe Decker," he murmured as the actress' name scrolled by. Never heard of her.

Lucifer rose from the sofa and puttered about naked, feeling downright domestic. After putting the cleared plate away in the kitchen and tossing the dirty towel in a hamper, he returned to the DVD player and removed the disc, carefully placing it back in its case.

With a faint smile, he wandered to his bookshelves, his eyes skirting over the back of the keep case with its questionable summary text and quaint, low budget artwork—a closeup of Jennifer in her bathing suit with a graduation cap slanted on her head. He didn't know why, exactly, but he had a fondness for mundane creative efforts like these. The imperfection was part of their charm, he supposed.

He wondered in passing what had become of Ms. Decker, even as her name had already begun to fade from his thoughts. Gosh, she'd be in her thirties now. She might be even _hotter_. Perhaps he'd look her up sometime, see if she was interested in visiting his hot tub for a much more adult sequel to her movie. He'd certainly be a better time than Nick Underbite Thompson or whoever that knobhead actor was.

As he was stretching up to a shelf, the elevator door slid open, and Mazikeen waltzed in, bedecked in leather and steel studs. She stopped and leered at his nakedness. "Someone's been enjoying himself," she said, and licked her teeth.

Lucifer glanced down at his relaxed tackle before quietly tucking the DVD case into the top right corner where he kept all his favorite movies. _Hot Tub High School_ found itself wedged between _The Devil Wears Prada_ and _The Weaponizer 4_ , two movies Mazikeen never deigned to watch. For whatever reason, he wanted to keep this one to himself. 

Secret safe, he turned to his demon with an arched brow, his cock twitching. Maybe a quiet night in had room for one more. 

"Give me a minute," he said, "and I'll be ready for an encore or two." He clapped his hands together as a thought struck him. "Ooh, actually, did that variety pack of lube arrive yet?"

Maze peeled off her top and chuckled savagely. "It got delivered an hour ago."

" _Splendid_."


End file.
